


Go, Hunt, Save

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Good Hunting [2]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-19 08:18:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8197549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: Written for the comment_fic prompt: "Stargate Multiverse, Any, Staff Meeting Day."John Sheppard has his first staff meeting on his new assignment. His world is turned upside down.





	

Staff meeting. It sounded like such an innocuous thing. John had been back stateside for just a week, getting his new uniforms, signing a whole bunch of NDAs, and clearing up the last of his legal issues with Major Jackson before Rodney came and picked him up. He drove a sleek black old-fashioned Jaguar MK, like some kind of mobster car, and as before, he was dressed sharply in a dark suit and dark-colored shirt and tie. They’d driven from Peterson AFB off to somewhere in the middle of Kansas, straying further and further from main roads until everything was narrow, winding country lanes and swaying wheat fields. They’d reached their destination in the middle of the night, and Rodney had pulled into the garage - which was full of other very nice cars, like a 67 Impala - and led John in through the basement. He assigned John a room - it was already made up - and said he’d see John in the morning for their staff meeting.

John was still an early riser despite his month behind bars in the brig in A-stan. There was a sink in his room so he could shave, but no bathroom, so he grabbed his kit and a clean uniform and tip-toed down the hall to what turned out to be really nice communal showers, with fancy tiles, great water pressure, and great water temperature. Once he was dressed, he followed the sound of voices to some kind of central atrium. The entire place, which had seemed military and cement and sterile like so many other bases John had been stationed at, was actually elegant, with a lot of art-deco elements to it.

The central atrium had tall windows on one side and a wrought-iron staircase leading to an upper balcony the circled the top half of the room. In the very center of the room was a large table with an illuminated map of the world as the table top, and it was surrounded by chairs. Rodney was seated in one, a mug of coffee at hand. Two women and three other men were seated at the table as well, all with various breakfast pastries and beverages. The coffee smelled delicious.

One of the men was strikingly pretty, with delicate, even features, long-lashed green eyes, and a distinctly Marine haircut.

“Morning, Major,” he said. “Coffee’s in the kitchen.”

“Thanks,” John said, and started to turn away, paused.

One of the other men, wearing a dark olive suit and a really dorky bowtie (he looked like he’d been stolen from the 1950’s, with his scrupulously neat hair) smiled (and okay, he had a nice smile, dimples) and pointed. “Kitchen’s that way, sport.”

 _Sport_ was a little condescending, but John nodded his thanks and went into the kitchen, and...wow. He was really going to have to keep up on running every day if he didn’t want to get fat, because the selection of pastries was beyond what John had grown up with (and Patrick Sheppard had hired a French pastry chef for special occasions). He made a beeline for the coffee maker, found a mug, and then he snagged a _pain au chocolat_ on a plate before heading back out to the atrium.

“Everyone,” Rodney said, “this is Major John Sheppard, the newest addition to our team. So far he’s proven to have The Sight and the ability to keep a cool head while confronted with the supernatural. John, this is everyone.”

“Don’t mind Rodney,” the dark-haired woman said. She had a British accent, and she smiled flirtatiously at John. “I’m Vala Mal Doran. I work in - acquisitions.”

“She’s a retired thief who once played host to a very cranky displaced deity,” Rodney corrected.

“Captain Dean Winchester,” the Marine said. “This is my brother, Sammy. He’s in the Chair Force.”

“It’s Sam,” he said sourly, but then smiled at John. He was startlingly tall, but narrow in the shoulders still. “And don’t mind Dean. Our Dad was a Marine, and Dean takes his interservice rivalries seriously. Lieutenant Sam Winchester, actually. Just graduated from Stanford Law. Accelerated course.”

“Major Sheppard’s in the Air Force,” the asian woman said. “I’m Miko Kusanagi, by the way. I run tech for everybody.”

Dean only looked a little bit apologetic.

John sat down next to Rodney, eyed Sam. “I thought you were Jackson’s paralegal.”

“Just for the one case,” Sam said.

“I’m Evan Lorne.” The man with the bowtie smiled again. “I was in the Air Force, too. Only made captain before I got a medical discharge, though.”

“Sam and Dean are our hunters,” Rodney said. “And Lorne is our -”

“Everything else. Quartermaster, chef, tailor, loremaster, spellmaster. Whatever you need.”

“Medical discharge?” John asked.

Lorne winked at him, and John realized one of his eyes was fake. “Can’t pilot as a cyclops, can I?”

“Now that we all know each other,” Rodney said, “let’s call this meeting to order. First order of business, upcoming missions?”

Lorne, who was taking notes in actual shorthand, consulted a leather-bound planner. “Looks like a demonic possession in Schuyler, Nebraska. Possible Elder God activity in Innsmouth, Massachusetts. Got what looks like ritual cannibalism just outside Raleigh, North Carolina. Some changelings in Cody, Wyoming. A vamp nest just outside of Portland, Oregon - we can stop by Powell’s Books and look for some more lore while we’re there. Possible siren in Lake Michigan, so a trip to Chicago is in order.”

“Mmm, Chicago deep dish.” Dean smiled.

“Werewolf in Cedar City, Utah, a wendigo in the Hundred Mile Wilderness in Maine, and a report of Frankenstein-style zombies in Jersey at a teaching hospital.” Lorne looked up at Rodney. “Which would you like to tackle first?”

“No harm in going in order,” Rodney said. “Unless anyone objects?”

There were no objections.

Rodney tapped something on his datapad. “Next order of business: we need updated federal agency credentials. They just changed how serial numbers are issued.”

“On it,” Dean said.

John frowned. “Why can’t we just use our military IDs?”

“What we’re doing is very, very covert,” Rodney said. “Technically black ops. Government pretends we don’t exist.”

“So we pretend we’re the government?” John asked.

Dean grinned. “Got it in one. Sounds like it’s picture time again.”

“Let Evan take the pictures,” Vala said. “He’s the best photographer. I want to look good on my fake ID.”

“No one looks good on an ID,” Rodney said.

“Dean does.” Vala pouted.

Rodney cleared his throat. “Moving on! Okay, requisitions. For the last time, you cannot use the requisition forms to purchase things like _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ or _A Song of Fire and Ice_ and call it research.” He pinned Lorne with a look.

“I know of no such thing,” Lorne said, looking like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

“Also, stop requisitioning whiskey for the medical kits. Use isopropyl alcohol like professionals.” Rodney prodded at his data pad some more.

Vala raised her hand. “Can we get a bigger budget for tampons?”

Miko nodded her agreement.

“...Why?” Rodney asked.

“Because someone,” Vala said, glaring at Dean, “keeps stealing our tampons for putting in the medical kits.”

“Tampons were originally designed for treating bullet wounds,” Dean protested.

“Well, if we have a bigger budget for tampons, then you will have enough for the medical kits and we will have enough for personal use.” Vala smiled sweetly at him.

Rodney was blushing ever so faintly - and he looked lovely when he blushed - but he nodded. “Fine. Arrange the budget, Lorne.”

“Will do.”

“Now,” Rodney said, “I know we don’t know when Vala’s actual birthday is, but Vala, you cannot have a birthday party every month.”

Vala pouted. “But -”

“We have to add John to the birthday rotation anyway.” Lorne scribbled away in his notebook. “June, right?”

“Yeah,” John said. How did Lorne know that?

Miko nudged Vala. “We’ll have parties in April, May, June, and July, all right? It’ll be fun.”

“Can I have my permanent birthday in August, then?” Vala asked.

Rodney glanced at Lorne, who shrugged. “Sure.”

“So now it’s Dean, Rodney, Sam, John, me, Vala, and Miko, in order of month,” Lorne murmured. “Got it.”

“Follow-up from last month’s assignments,” Rodney said. “Dean, where are we on better prices for silver ammo?”

“I crunched the numbers -” Dean began.

Sam coughed pointedly.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Lorne, Sam, and I crunched the numbers. It’s still more cost-effective to make our silver ammo, and consecrated iron, and brass, and gold.”

“Gold?” John asked.

“Silver for werewolves and vampires, consecrated iron for demons, brass for rakshasas, and gold for - well. Haven’t run into one yet, hope to never do so,” Sam said.

John knew Rodney was some kind of paranormal investigator, but he’d thought it would be more like that one show on TV, Ghostfacers, where they went around to haunted buildings and set up weird equipment and got the hell scared out of them on a weekly basis. This sounded more like - war.

“Fine,” Rodney said. “Start purchasing the rest of the reloading supplies. Vala?”

“I talked to my connection in Cyprus, and we will have all the olive branches we need,” Vala said.

“Miko?”

“Everyone will be outfitted with push-to-talk capabilities on their smartphones, bluetooth headsets, and datapads before we next hit the road.”

“Excellent. Lorne?”

“I spoke to the local butcher, and we will have all the lamb’s blood we need for the foreseeable future.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” Rodney tapped at his datapad some more. “Good hustle, team. Any other orders of business?”

“We need to add John to the chore chart,” Vala said.

“Already done,” Lorne said.

“Of course it is.” Vala rolled her eyes. “I think we should have a nice welcome dinner for John.”

“Also already in the works,” Lorne said. He caught John’s eye. “Steak and beer still your favorite?”

John nodded. “Yes. How did you -?”

“He knows everything,” Miko said. “It’s best not to ask.”

John eyed Lorne’s dimpled smile and bowtie and was deeply, deeply suspicious of the man.

“Are the pastries to your liking?” Lorne asked. “Let me know if they’re not, and I can make something different for you in the morning.”

John looked down at his half-eaten pastry, which he’d forgotten in all the talk of vampires and sirens and what the hell was a wendigo? “I - it’s delicious. You made these?”

“Seriously,” Miko said, “don’t ask.”

“Meeting adjourned,” Rodney said. “Same time next month. Go, hunt, save. Come with me, John. Time for a crash course on supernatural lore.” He stood up and swept out of the room.

John scooped up his pastry and coffee and followed.

“Come see me later to get your tech!” Miko called after him.

John had thought his life was over the moment he felt his chopper going down over the hot sands of Afghanistan. Instead, his entire world had changed with one staff meeting.

“Rodney, what’s a wendigo?”


End file.
